Lest We Forget
by The Categorical Imperative
Summary: As Sam becomes reflective we learn a little about his and Josh’s past.


TITLE: Lest We Forget

AUTHOR: The Categorical Imperative

GENRE: Drama

RATING: G

SUMMARY: As Sam becomes reflective we learn a little about his and Josh's past.

SPOILERS: A little of 'The Crackpots and These Women' & early season 2

FEEDBACK: DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters I'm using, they were created by Aaron Sorkin and as such are the property of him, etc. etc.

X o X o X

A fork of lightening split the sky above the White House in twain with electrifying force. It was followed immediately be a rolling rumble of thunder. The storm was directly overhead, not to mention completely awesome. The bright forks of lightening illuminated the White House, reflecting off of all the windows, it looked as if the building had momentarily been filled with a strong surge of magical energy, gone as quickly as it came.

From within the White House the youngest member of the Senior Staff: Deputy Communications Director, Sam Seaborn, watched from the window of his office, entirely encapsulated in the grandeur of the lightning and the cacophony of the thunder. The office lights were off, to allow the magnitude of the storm to shine forth, the only light being provided by the lightening outside. He was so in awe of the storm that he failed to hear the door to his office open and notice someone enter the darkened room.

"Sam?"

He failed to hear the voice. It was the voice of Joshua Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.

"Sam?" Josh tried again. There was still no response from his friend. Sam continued to look out of the window at the driving rain and the sudden bright bursts. Josh quietly approached Sam and put his hand on his friends shoulder to gain his attention. The younger man jumped as he became aware of the additional person in the room.

"This storm's really something, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You OK Sam?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"We've not seen or heard from you in a while, we wondered if you were OK."

"I'm fine, Josh. Really I am."

"How long have you been watching? The storm?"

"I don't know. Guess I lost track of time."

"I said I'd come and see how you were, make sure you were all right. I actually came up here to escape." Josh confessed.

"Escape from what?"

"Donna, mainly."

"What's Donna done now?"

"She keeps on at me to call Joey Lucas."

"You should."

"Not you, too."

"No Josh, really you should. You like her."

"Yes, I like her. That doesn't mean I have to call her."

"No." Sam concurred, "But you should." A pause. "You know, I love storms. They fascinate me."

"Yeah. You know, I think you're geekiness there was almost comparable to that of the President."

"They are pretty amazing, though, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

Sam reached up to take of his eyeglasses with his right hand. While doing so he rubbed his eyes wearily with the back of his hand.

"You tired?"

"A little."

"You should go home, it's late."

"Can't. I have work to do."

"I'm sure work can wait for just this once. We have nothing pressing coming up for a couple weeks." Josh chided. "Besides, you look as if you need to talk. You're standing there looking so pensive, I figure that you must have something to say."

"Maybe."

"Come on, talk to me Sam." Josh went and sat in the chair on the far side of Sam's desk, his curly hair as unruly as ever. He waited for Sam to turn around, but the younger man kept his back to Josh, still totally entranced by the storm.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What's up?"

"I don't know. At this time of year I feel so melancholy."

"Melancholy? Sam, only you would use the word melancholy, as if it were a word that was used every day."

"Isn't it though?" Sam turned around to face Josh, he stood looking at him pointedly, and then sat down in the chair opposite to him. "Josh, can I ask you about something?"

"Sure."

"You might not want to answer it."

"Try me."

"What was it like when your sister died?"

"Huh?"

"What was it like when your sister died?"

"It was. I don't really remember, I was only young. What makes you ask?"

"This weather at this time of year, it makes me sad. I think of my grandparents."

"They dead?"

"Yeah, on my Mom's side. They died at about this time of year. They used to live near to us when I was a boy. When there was a big storm like this I used to love going to their place. At first I used to be so afraid of the storms that I'd go and hole-up in their basement. One day though, they actually coaxed me up to the loft during a huge storm. The loft had beautiful big, open windows, they had a magnificent view. Whenever I see a storm, I think of them."

"You've never mentioned them before."

"I haven't? I think about them so much. They'd be so proud of who I am, the job I do. We really were very close."

"How old were you when they died?"

"Fifteen my Gran, Seventeen my Grandpa. They practically bought me up."

"They did a good job." Josh smiled warmly at Sam, though he really didn't seem to notice.

"I feel alone in this weather. I miss them."

"How did they die?"

"Do you feel alone without your sister?"

"Joanie? I guess. It's different for me though."

"I'm sorry. I know. I don't know how it must feel to lose a sibling, I can't even begin to imagine."

"I'm glad you've not had to go through that. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I was only young though, I hardly knew her. Not like you would have known your grandparents. I know she loved me though, and I loved her. I still love her."

"How often do you think about her?"

"Specifically about her, not as much as I should. Subconsciously, all the time."

"Like my grandparents. I know that they're always there."

"How do you remember them?"

"Other than the storms?"

"Yeah." "I remember all the things that we used to do together, all the good times when we used to go out. When they took me sailing." The younger man smiled sadly, his blue eyes sparkling a little. "My Mom and Dad weren't happy when they're little six year old son came home full of tails of the wide blue ocean, a voyage which had been strictly forbidden when his grandparents originally mentioned it to his parents."

"Do you remember what you were doing when they died?"

"My grandfather had a stroke when I was eleven, gave me the shock of my life when I was told when I got in from school. As a result he was confined to a wheel chair and consequently had to be admitted to a residential home when my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She was admitted to the same complex as there is a hospice facility integrated. It was nice that they got to spend some time together. My Mom sat with my Gran, she brushed her hair and talked to her, so she told me later. It was like she waited for us to get up there before she died. My Dad couldn't bear the sight of her, had to leave the room. They made me go, too. I went to sit with my grandfather, I didn't want to leave, but I knew someone ought to be with him. When we arrived that day, her eyes were hollow, she was conscious, but she hardly seemed so. She sat in a chair rocking back and forth gently and her breaths were short gasps. Her skin was ashen, she looked so old and frail, I remember her when she was more robust, stout. I liked her better that way. It was the morphine they gave her that killed her, I think. The doctor had just been in and increased her dose to take away some of the pain and it was too much for her system to cope with.

"I sat with my grandfather until my Mom and Dad came down with the news. What I remember most clearly though, was that after he was told he just screamed. He cried out the word "no" so loudly and with such anguish. The sound of it almost broke my heart. I really do think it broke his. They had been together forever and we almost expected him to die shortly after, as a consequence of his grief. He cried like I'd never seen him cry before. He didn't really take it in when he'd been told about the cancer, we thought he might not accept the fact that she had died." The tears started to roll gently down Sam's cheeks.

"That's sad, Sam. What happened to your grandfather?" As macabre as it was, Josh felt compelled to find out exactly what had made his best friend become the man he was.

"We were called to the home early in the morning. They had just called the doctor out, who had diagnosed him with bronchial pneumonia. He was hardly conscious when we arrived, but he seemed to respond when I spoke to him. We went home for a little while as he improved a bit, then we went back later. When we got back his condition had worsened. I went straight down to his room with my father, my Mom waited to speak with the Sister in charge. I put some music on; war songs, we always used to love listening to them together. My father told me not to, but I put them on anyway. I knew that's how he would have wanted it to be. My Mom called my Dad out to tell him what the nurse had said. They left me alone in the room with him, and while they were gone, he died. I held his hand and talked to him quietly, as the music played on in the background. I'll never forget the song: 'Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Good Bye'. It seemed appropriate somehow. My Mom and Dad came back in the room, and looked at him for a few brief moments that seemed to take forever. They told me he was dead, I already knew. They thought they were in the room when he died, but they weren't. They were outside where they always are, standing on the edge looking in.

"My mom rang the buzzer for the nurse to come. She came, felt his pulse, and said that he was gone. We were left alone with him. Unseeing eyes looked out at us. My parents said it was time to go. My parents had already started out the door, but I couldn't leave him, not as he was. His eyes were open. After all those years he spent taking care of me, there was only one thing I could do. I remember reaching out my hand and placing my fingers on his eyelids, gently closing them. Then I leaned down over him and kissed him on the forehead. That was to be my goodbye to him. My parents said that it was nice of me."

"It was."

"It wasn't meant to be nice. Not like that, anyhow. It was the last thing that it was possible for me to do for him, our last connection." Josh nodded his comprehension. He paused momentarily.

"I didn't really understand when Joanie died at first. When I did understand, all I seemed to be able to do is blame myself. We were both in that house when it was on fire. I couldn't work out how I managed to get out and she didn't. Accepting that one of us was safe whilst the other died seemed illogical to me as a six year old."

"Were you hurt?"

"I was taken to the hospital where I was treated for smoke inhalation. I was more exhausted than I ever remember being, perhaps even more so than when I was shot, I don't know. It was while I was in the hospital that they told me Joanie was dead. I'd expected to see her in the bed next to me, I couldn't comprehend why she wasn't there, no matter how many times I was told. I couldn't understand that I'd never see her again, I mean, the rest of your life is forever when you're a kid, and then you get shot and forever doesn't seem like such a long time."

"You think about Joanie when you were shot?"

"I thought about dying. I thought about that a lot. I don't remember thinking about Joanie, though. It was the first time in my life when I'd been scared and not though about her. I guess I wanted that forever should go on a little longer. I wanted more time with my friends. I wanted more time to make a difference. I really didn't want to die."

"How much did it hurt?"

"Being shot?"

"No, losing your sister."

"Yeah. Well. I felt empty to begin, when I finally understood. Totally numb. Then, it hurt like hell. It felt at the time like I'd been stabbed through the heart."

"And now?"

"Now? Now I'm convinced that it's much more akin to being shot in the heart. Believe me, I know. And I have the scars to prove it." Sam smiled, then stood up and turned back to the window.

"This is nice."

"Yeah."

"Storms seem to be there, lest we forget. They give me something tangible to cling to, figuratively speaking. It's a short respite to allow the inner demons that you're fighting escape, for a little while, at least, then, when it's done you look back and it simply seems to be like."

"A storm in a teacup?"

"Yes." Josh got up and walked over to Sam at the window. They both stood looking out for a moment.

"Home?"

"Yeah, home. Work can wait."

"Don't let Toby hear you say that."

"Just this once."

"Sure. The storm was good Sam."

"Yeah."

"Lest we forget."


End file.
